Roads Untraveled
by Anera527
Summary: Voldemort is back and swiftly gaining in power in the wizarding world- until three of the strangest creatures show up at Hogwarts, worried about their missing comrade. In the following months and confrontations, Arda and the world of wizards will collide head-on and neither world will ever be the same again. No slash, eventually will become a H/Hr story, set after OotP.
1. Meetings

"_**To the Place We Stand"**_

A/N: I've read a lot of LotR/Harry Potter crossovers, and have written a few myself, but several o those stories dealt with parodies and humorous situations,, or of Harry being sent to Middle-earth as an El or to help the Fellowship during the War of the Ring. Writing this story, I wanted to write things a little differently—a story that hopefully mirrors the serious lessons of life that Tolkien and Jo wrote in their own (and I take LotR very seriously—it's like my second Bible). Obviously it'll be a Harry-and–Frodo-centered story, since they are my favorite characters from their respective franchises, and there will be no slash—only a few pairings that will hopefully surprise you.

Enjoy!

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_~"Of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond any reach of magic, is a truth he has never grasped."~_

-Albus Dumbledore

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Chapter 1: Meetings

They were, without a doubt, the three strangest-looking creatures Harry had yet seen. They looked like boys at first glance, with their small statures and young faces; at second glance one might notice that they really weren't boys at all, but rather young men; on the third glance, if they were still there to see, one would see they were not, in fact, even human, though they were certainly _humanoid_. They were small, only about three or four feet tall, with thick curly hair that ranged from a dark golden blonde to a light brown, and all three had ears that ended in fine, delicate points. The strangest of all their features, however, were their feet, which were quite large and bare and covered with thick calluses and hair.

He tried not to stare as he ate his breakfast, but he still found himself looking at them despite his best efforts, and he hated himself for it. As Harry freaking _Potter_ he was all too familiar with the sensation of being gawked at. Well, at least he wasn't like Ron, who was openly staring at the three strangers, his food shockingly forgotten, or several others of the Great Hall who were doing the same thing. Hermione, however, seemed perfectly content to read her latest book, _Muggles and Magic: Harmonious or Harmful?_ and ignored all proceedings that went on around her.

"Merlin," Ron muttered. "Where do you suppose _those_ guys have come from?"

"Dunno," Harry replied quietly, and looked down at his plate again with an effort.

"They showed up last night," Luna Lovegood's voice piped up from behind them, and they jumped and together swung around to find their Ravenclaw friend standing there, looking just as dreamy and odd as always, but Harry smiled.

"Hi, Luna."

"Hello, Harry Potter," she said brightly, and slid onto the bench beside them; she stole a piece of bacon off of Ron's plate and bit into it with all the fervor of a starving person. "Mmmm," she hummed. "The bacon over here is excellent—nice and crispy."

"You said they came last night?" Harry asked curiously, and looked back over to where the three creatures sat in a corner of the Great Hall, clearly in the middle of a quiet but heated discussion. They seemed utterly oblivious to the several pairs of eyes that stared at them. He hastily turned away again.

"Oh yes," Luna said vaguely, focusing on her bacon as she twirled it with her fingers. "Caused quite a raucous, too—disrupted the Nargles badly. It seems they've lost someone important to them and have been debating on how to get him back."

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, sounding dubious.

She giggled and ate the rest of her bacon. "I asked them, silly," she replied. At their equal looks of amazement, she rolled her eyes slightly. "They really are quite friendly, you know, even if they are worried. Come on—I'll introduce them to you."

"Ah—n-no thanks, Luna," Ron stammered quickly, looking rather intimidated by the thought of meeting them. "I have to finish my breakfast, you know—"

"Well, then, _you_ come with me, Harry!" she said eagerly.

Harry, too, was tempted to back out, but he decided he would humor Luna; after the events of last year—and his heart clenched painfully at the memories—it was the least he could do for her in return for the danger he had placed her in. "Alright," he said, and pushed his meal aside. Luna beamed at him and sprang up, causing Hermione to glare up at her with a disgruntled look, having lost her place in her book due to Luna's abrupt movements.

Approaching the lone tables, Harry felt his nervousness grow. He almost wanted to back out but decided it was too late now. As they walked closer, he began to hear snippets of their council.

"—but we can't just _leave_ him there!" one was protesting fiercely.

"Of course we won't, Pip!" another whispered, looking shocked at the very idea. "But you heard what the Headmaster said last night—we can't simply walk in and grab him."

"I they hurt him…" the third said slowly, and he trailed off, but there was little doubt of what he was implying. The second speaker looked over at the third but instead of reprimanding the rather violent words he nodded agreement. Then he noticed Luna and Harry approaching and cleared his throat meaningfully, then straightened in his seat.

"Miss Luna," he said politely, but his smile—while genuine—was rather strained. "What can we do for you?"

Luna smiled at him. "Good morning, Mr. Merry," she said, quite comfortable with the three. Harry hung back. "Had any luck with finding him?"

"No," came the tired reply, and Harry could hear the heavy worry that was lacing the otherwise collected tone.

"Harry," Luna said, and he walked up to her side. She was motioning to each of the three creatures in turn. "This is Merry Brandybuck," the second speaker, "Pippin Took," the first speaker, "and Sam Gamgee." The third speaker. "And for the three of you, this is Harry Potter."

"A boy?" Pippin asked with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, and Harry felt his face flush and the forwardness of the teasing, causing the one called Merry to snicker.

"He's my friend," Luna stated proudly, and Harry felt himself flush even more.

"A shy friend at that," the one called Sam said.

"No more than you are around Rose Cotton, Sam," Merry remarked wryly, and Sam shut his mouth, blushing a little himself. "Or were, anyway, considering that you've finally spoken."

"Who's Rose Cotton?" Luna asked interestedly.

"Sam's sweetheart back home," Pippin said. "He's fancied her for years, but was always too shy to say anything about it until recently."

"After Frodo finally talked some sense into him," Merry muttered, grinning.

"Mr. Frodo didn't tell me nothin'!" Sam protested. "He just—just—"

"Dear old Frodo merely told you what an ass you were being, refusing to speak," Pippin finished with a sly look to his eyes. "Smart, our older cousin is. I was wondering how long it would take him to decide enough was enough, you know, and I'm only surprised it took him so long."

"Who's Frodo?" Harry asked, finally seating himself beside Luna.

"Mine and Pip's older cousin," Merry explained, "by several years, in fact. He's head of the Baggins family. He came with us here, but didn't end up landing where we did." His gaze grew worried again.

"Where did you come from?"

"The Shire, Mr. Harry," Sam said shortly. "Greenest, most fertile earth you'll ever hope to see."

Harry frowned. "I've never heard of the Shire."

"It's because it doesn't exist now," Luna explained, gazing up at the ceiling and watching the enchanted ceiling. "They've time-jumped, Harry," she said when he shot her a confused look, "by a matter of several thousand years and maybe even a dimension or two, but that doesn't really matter."

"How do you _know_ that?" Harry finally exclaimed.

She smiled again. "I _asked_ them," she said simply.

"'Deed she did," Sam agreed. "Pretty wise in her own right, Mr. Harry—best to remember that."

"I know," Harry replied, and meant it. He was surprised to notice, too, that he was relaxing in these creatures' company, something he rarely did around strangers. But they looked fairly harmless in his opinion, and there was something about them that put him at ease. Then he realized something that was bothering him. "Er—if you don't mind me asking, but… what do you call yourselves, anyway?"

Merry chuckled. "I suppose we are called by several names," he said thoughtfully. "Perian, holbytla, halflings, the 'little people'… but we call ourselves hobbits."

"Ooooh, that sounds like fun to say!" Luna exclaimed. "Hobbit, hobbit, hobbit, hobbit…" she sang to herself.

Harry grinned and turned back to the three 'hobbits' who were looking at Luna in surprise and, in Pippin's case, amusement. "You'll get used to her," he chuckled.

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"Hobbits." Hermione frowned to herself. "_Hobbits_. I've never heard of a word like that. I've never even heard of a_ people_ calling themselves that." Still lost in thought, she stirred her potion counter-clockwise, which was a bright blue. She and Harry stood together in Potions, talking quietly above the clanking of the stirrers and the hissing of the flames. Harry had opted to stand with Hermione to discuss the school's visitors, hoping she would know something about them, leaving Ron to pair up with someone else.

"You haven't?" He was surprised and disappointed.

She shook her head. "No."

"Well," he said slowly, thinking back, "Luna did say they had come from another time, and maybe even a different dimension…"

The look on Hermione's face clearly said what she thought of Luna's explanation, but she did not speak. It was just as well she didn't because at that moment Snape, the professor of the class, swept up to them with his customary scowl.

"Gossiping in class, Potter?" he sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor—this is a classroom, not a corridor."

Harry was opening his mouth to angrily protest Snape's unfairness, but Hermione stomped on his foot discreetly, cutting him off.

"_Don't_," she whispered as Snape walked away. "Don't give him the right to give you a detention."

Harry glared but did as she said.'No detention could be as bad as the toad's,' he thought darkly to himself. But Snape's detentions were notoriously difficult, and it didn't help that Harry's hatred of the potions professor had only grown since Sirius had…

Hermione's sharp intake of breath brought him out of his dark thoughts and he saw she was staring in wide-eyed surprise at the doorway of the classroom. Following her gaze, Harry's jaw nearly dropped.

"Severus," Albus Dumbledore said gravely as he walked in, "it is most urgent that I speak with you." He ignored the gaping students, which surprised Harry even more.

Snape blinked, the only sign of his surprise. Then he turned to the students. "Class is dismissed!" he barked. "Clean up and leave. Your assignment is to write an essay on the properties of the Draught of Living Death and its uses, five feet in length and to be placed on my desk on Monday."

Everyone scrambled to do as ordered, carefully keeping silent about how they felt about Snape's assignment until they left. Even Hermione did not seem excited about the length of the paper; or maybe she was simply still thrown by the presence of the Headmaster.

As everyone else left, however, Harry stayed where he was. Hermione tried to get him to leave but he ignored her.

"Potter! Granger!" Snape snarled. "What did you not understand about 'leave'?"

Hermione backed away but Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Sir," he said quietly, "is this about Merry and Pippin and Sam?"

Dumbledore did not seem surprised that Harry had already met the hobbits and merely nodded. "I am afraid so." He turned to Snape. "Severus, call the others to my office—quickly."

Hermione caught Harry's gaze curiously, clearly thinking along the same lines as he was. Whatever the problem, it was big enough to include the Order of the Phoenix.

"Harry."

Dumbledore's quiet voice caught his attention. The headmaster was looking at him, clearly wanting to make a request.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Harry, I would like you to find our three guests and bring them to my office as well. The password is 'Fizzing Whizbees'. Go along now—be quick."

Harry started to move, then another thought occurred to him and he stopped. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes?"

He hesitated. "The others tell me they're supposed to be another with them—someone called 'Frodo'. Where is he? Have you found him?"

To his surprise, Dumbledore paused as if unprepared for his question—then he sat heavily onto the desk behind him, looking suddenly old and tired, and Harry realized, with an icy surge of horror, where this 'Frodo' was even before Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply.

"He's been taken by Voldemort."


	2. Welcome to the New age

_**Chapter 2: Welcome to the New Age**_

It was cold in the cell Frodo found himself in. Cold and oppressive, and he could fairly taste the reek of Evil that permeated the air. He shivered from where he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest—it all felt too much like the tower and the room he had been held in by the Orcs while in Mordor. The only good thing he supposed about the here and now was that his belongings were still his own, he was not half out of his mind and ill from Shelob's venom, and he did not need to worry about the discovery of the One Ring and in consequence the utter fall of his world.

At the thought of the Ring, his fingers instinctively shot up to his neck where for so long It had hung; instead of Its simple gold band, however, his fingers brushed the pendant the Queen Arwen had gifted him and felt his frayed nerves calm slightly. He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to think on the positives: he was not, at least, stripped and naked, and was not being threatened so far.

He knew something had gone terribly wrong. Gandalf had warned them, after all, that the jump through so many years could be unsteady and even temperamental. He wondered if it was perhaps a miracle that they had made it here in the first place. He only hoped that his cousins and dearest friend had made it to their destination but had no way of knowing.

He was only musing for another moment before he heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps coming to the door of the cell, and he felt himself stiffen. All too soon the door swung open and his captor walked in.

It was a Man, but unlike any Man he'd ever seen. Tall and slender, almost unhealthily so, with white, scaly skin and a face with thin, cruel-looking lips and no nose. His eyes shone a bright scarlet; it was a visage that was frightening, and for a long moment all Frodo could do was stare at him in dumbfounded horror; but then his nerves steadied. It still counted for something that he had stood in the shadow of Sauron himself three times, and had been chased by the Nazgul, and taken captive for a short time by the Barrow-wights (a memory that even after all he'd been through still managed to freeze his blood). He was not so easily intimidated anymore. He stayed where he was.

The Man looked down at him with a sneer. "_This_ is the creature my Death Eaters have caught?" he asked in a high, cold voice. "A scrawny maggot?"

'Orc-talk,' Frodo thought with a shudder. Was all speech the same way in every Age? He didn't speak.

The Man paced in front of him, his head cocked curiously. "You are not a boy," he said—quite obviously, in Frodo's opinion, "and you are not a man. Not with those feet!" he chuckled humorlessly. "And you are clearly not a wizard, but you cannot be a Muggle. So what are you?" He looked down at Frodo, considering, and smirked when he still received no answer. "Can you not speak? Have my faithless followers given me a mute as a gift? Tsk, tsk. I will have to _discuss_ that with them."

"So you lead through fear rather than respect?" Frodo finally spoke, unable to keep silent any longer, but _he_ certainly held no liking for those who led through fear and threats.

The Man chuckled again. "So it does speak," he said softly. "Of course I rule through such—what is respect _but_ fear?"

"Only love," Frodo retorted. "I follow through love and a fair hand more than any snake's honeyed tongue."

The Man abruptly stilled and something darkened in his eyes. "So you preach the usual myth of _love_," he hissed scornfully. "I suppose all simple-minded fools must speak of the same things."

"Just as all those walking in Darkness commit the same crimes?" Frodo asked sarcastically. "And I suppose that you will allow your followers to beat me and try to lay all my secrets bare before you finally kill me."

The Man blinked, and Frodo had the distinct impression he had surprised him—and then he was throwing his head back and laughing in a way that sent a wave of goose-bumps down the hobbit's back. Finally the Man calmed. "So I have a prisoner who is not so stupid! But this raises my curiosity—however in the world did _you_, an innocent, soft-looking creature, find out such a thing?" And suddenly the Man was crouching in front of Frodo, an ugly smile on his face, and he grabbed the hobbit's right hand. Frodo gasped at the fell of the dry, papery skin and tried to jerk free, but the Man held fast and laughed again. "Spirited, are you? But see here—you have a finger missing and it looks quite painful even now. And on your wrists—" Skeletal fingers deftly tore the sleeves of Frodo's shirt back, "Scars dug from rope. You seem to have been held captive at some point before now, my pet. What I want to know," and all humor had vanished into frank seriousness now, "is _why_. I'm sure if we were to strip you of everything we would find several more marks upon your person before I finally look into your mind."

'Orc-talk, Orc-talk, Orc-talk,' Frodo repeated frantically to himself. The evidence of his time of captivity held so blatantly in front of him—evidence he always tried to hide—was making him roil with the memories of the foul Orcs who jeered and snarled at him, and of the overwhelming pain he had been in both physically and mentally. But then one word that the Man had said caught his attention and held him fast: _mind_? Caught off-guard, he could only look up at the Man in astonishment—and fear. He could easily admit he had no wish for his mind and very soul to be invaded again. The Man saw that, saw the fear that he caused, and sneered.

"I will break you if I have to, my pet," he hissed, "while I discover who and what you are. You are in _my_ stronghold, under _my_ power. Do not think for even a moment that you will be rescued by anyone." And again he reached out with a snake's speed and grabbed the hobbit's chin, lifting Frodo's face up towards the dim light of the cell. "Who will it be, I wonder, who tries?"

Before Frodo fully expected it, he felt Dark tendrils like fingers start to grasp at his mind, seeking hungrily for information. He cried out in pain and thrashed in the Man's grasp. Dear Valar, it _hurt_! He could see the Man above him smirking, enjoying the pain he was causing, thinking that he would meet no resistance.

But Frodo had carried the One Ring for seventeen years, and had been searched in much the same way as It tried to find a hold on Its Bearer. His mind was used to another trying to overpower him mentally, even if It had done it more subtly. Quickly the former defenses sprang up: a wall of Light, _his_ Light, which formed around the Dark fingers and pushed them away.

"_No_!"

To his surprise, instead of being merely held at bay like the Ring's power had, _these_ searching fingers dissolved and fled his mind, and the Man—so powerful even a moment before—suddenly jerked back with a short yell of surprise and pain. He fell back, physically releasing Frodo as well, and for a long still moment neither of them dared to move, struggling to recover themselves, sizing each other up. The look in the Man's eyes had changed—still Dark, still contemptuous, but deep down there was astonishment… and maybe even a grudging respect.

Finally the Man moved and from the anger on his face, Frodo knew he had not succeeded in discovering anything. Panting slightly, pressed up against the wall again, Frodo felt his relief almost choke him. The Man had not seen anything about Merry or Pippin or Sam, or of Arda, or of their task—or of the One Ring. And instinctively Frodo knew that that was the one thing this Man could not find out anything about. The look in his eyes hardened—he would give this monster nothing.

Voldemort sensed that, saw the small creature's features abruptly harden with determination and even defiance. He had been caught off-guard by its surprising resistance—and angered by it. Never before had anyone been able to throw them out of their minds so quickly and with such force; he knew he would be unable to probe the creature's mind again, not until its defenses were weakened sufficiently. He'd be simply thrown out again. But that didn't mean he was going to give up—none could _ever_ accuse Lord Voldemort of being defeated so easily. This little creature was going to give him the answers he sought.

Even if it killed him.


	3. Tomorrow Is a Long Time

"_**Chapter 3: Tomorrow Is a Long Time"**_

"It don't mean nothin' that Mr. Frodo's been taken by this "Dark Lord"!" Sam Gamgee was exclaiming vehemently.

From where he was sitting beside Luna, Harry thought wryly that he would have to be careful what he said in the future around Sam. It seemed the hobbit was hot-blooded when it came to defending another—an attribute he realized he could easily relate to.

"Peace, Sam," Merry said quietly from across the room. "None of us here need to be told that."

"Clearly some here _do_!" the former retorted. His accusing gaze found Harry and Luna and it was very clear what he thought about their doubtful comments from earlier. It had been two days since Dumbledore had called the Order together and told them what had happened, and needless to say when hearing where the fourth hobbit was, several had already given him up for dead.

"No one has ever escaped that bastard's front door," the old ex-Auror Alastor Moody had said dismissively.

It had been Pippin, surprisingly, who had replied: "Well, then, what about his _back_ door?"

Privately, Harry agreed with Moody on this one. He himself had faced Voldemort five times already and was horribly familiar with the Dark Lord's mannerisms and sadistic love of pain and torture. Looking at the three hobbits now, he couldn't help but wonder: how long could one of these small, soft-looking creatures defy Lord Voldemort?

But Sam, keener than he looked, sensed the drift of his thoughts and glared at him. "Don't be doubtin' my master's strength," he said staunchly. "He's as stubborn as they come or his name ain't Baggins, and he's wiser than anyone—'cept for Mr. Gandalf and Mr. Bilbo, course—but the day this "Dark Lord" breaks Frodo Baggins will be a sad day indeed."

"Sam's right," Merry agreed, straightening. "Cousin Frodo's been through a lot. Does this Voldemort have the power to turn people into wraiths?"

Harry blinked, startled. "No."

"Does he have a giant pet spider?" Sam interjected.

"No."

"How about Ringwraiths that are bidden to do his will?" Pippin asked fiercely.

"I sincerely hope not."

Merry nodded decisively. "Then I think Frodo will be able to take care of himself for the time being—at least long enough for us to think of a rescue plan."

"A _rescue plan_?" Harry openly gaped at them. 'And Snape calls _me_ careless!' he thought. He shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry, but you don't _know_ what Voldemort's capable of—"

"And you do?" Pippin retorted angrily.

Harry stopped and swallowed hard against a sudden upsurge of memory: the agonizing possession after Sirius's death last year, Voldemort's pitiless red eyes laughing as he tortured Harry in the graveyard during fourth year… even Riddle's cold arrogance and thirst for blood in second year and Voldemort's cruel tauntings in first.

"Yes," he said simply.

"But you've escaped him, then!" Sam exclaimed, not to side-tracked.

"I wasn't supposed to!" Harry shot back. "It's just some kind of luck that I've lived so often—luck and chance-!"

"After what I've seen, I don't believe in simple luck," Merry replied. "It's as Gandalf once said: _there are other forces at work here besides the will of Evil_." Then suddenly he winced as if thinking of something. "And besides," he added with a look at Pippin and Sam, "I would _not_ like to see Gandalf's reaction if we were to go back without Frodo."

Pippin whitened considerably and even Sam began to look worried. "He'd _kill_ us!" the former moaned. "Or turn us into toads! And then Aragorn would make him turn us back and then _he'd_ kill us!"

"Who is Gandalf?" Luna asked curiously.

"Gandalf is the one who sent us here," Merry answered after a moment. "He's a wizard in our world, one of only fi—er, _four_ there. He told us that there was a world that was facing a "Dark Lord" of their own, and he sent the four of us here to scout it out."

"Oh." Their appearance here suddenly made a lot more sense. Harry had wondered why the four hobbits had been sent in the first place since they seemed too small to do much against Voldemort by themselves. But as a scouting party they seemed much more useful. "And who were you sent to help?"

Merry suddenly smiled. "Gandalf told us there was a young Man we were to help especially: Harry Potter. Luckily for us we found you quickly enough with the aide of Miss Luna, who said she was a friend of yours." He spread his arms. "So here we are, ready to help—after we help Frodo, anyway. He's too important for us to leave him to such a Dark fate."

"Didn't consider it before in the Tower," Sam agreed, his eyes shadowed with memory. "Not going to think about it now."

"Sam stormed a tower full of Orcs just to find Frodo once," Pippin explained to Harry's confused look.

"I wasn't thinkin' straight," Sam said quietly. "All I knew was my master was captured by the Enemy, and to hear the shrieks and clangin' that came from that place froze my blood, thinkin' he was being sliced to bits by the filthy creatures. Turns out they was just killin' each other—I only met a few when I got in."

"But what happened?" Harry finally asked, unable to keep silent any longer. "You've been mentioning your experiences and talking about some things, like former captures and Orcs and—and Ringwraiths and Dark Lords, but you haven't said anything about how or why you know of them!"

The hobbits were all silent for a long moment; then finally Merry spoke slowly. "I don't think they are things we should discuss right now—they would only distract us from what we need to do." He took a deep breath. "You could not begin to understand how much our memories still affect us—we cannot afford to let them dull our senses and our wits. Besides, I think that Frodo should have a hand in the telling—it was he, after all, who I think went through the most out of the four of us."

"And," Sam added darkly, "Gandalf warned us that there would be those who could not be trusted here in this world—so the less people know, the better."

"Well, look on the bright side," Pippin said glumly, "tomorrow the Headmaster will tell us of his resources that he can give us to help with rescuing Frodo."

"Why don't you just call this Gandalf guy and ask him to help you?" Harry asked, a mite angrily.

"It is only in the direst of situations that we should call him," Merry replied quietly. "He has faith in us to handle a situation—just as we must have faith in Frodo to protect the secrets he bears. Tomorrow is such a long time from now; we can only wait and be watchful to see what the dawn will bring us."


	4. A Creature With No Name

_**Chapter 4: "A Creature With No Name"**_

A/N: This was a more difficult chapter to write—specifically for the short torture scene at the end, but it's nothing too graphic. But still difficult to write.

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The meeting between Dumbledore and the hobbits did not end like expected. Harry had been witness to it and was now thoroughly impressed with Merry Brandybuck, who had put all others to shame with his stubborn refusal to accept "no" for an answer. From the very beginning, the Headmaster had remained resolute in his decisions.

"I'm sorry," he had said softly, "but I cannot risk a full-out attack on Voldemort now. We are not yet strong enough to defeat him, and a major defeat on our part would be disastrous for us." His arguments had remained much the same throughout the meeting despite Sam's and Pippin's heated explanations and reasonings. Merry, however, had remained oddly silent throughout it all—analyzing and coming up with his own counterarguments, Harry realized later. Personally, Harry felt torn between the two views: he could understand Dumbledore's concern for the safety of his people and even the revealing of their dimension-traveling guests too soon. On the other hand, he did not like the idea of doing nothing to help a prisoner who was not even of this world.

Finally, Merry had made his move: "You seem entirely concerned about the safety of us all," he said quietly, but his collected tone only covered up his evident irritation, "and I am sincerely grateful to you for that. We understand that you do not want to bring anymore death upon your people than is necessary, and we respect that. But we never said that we wouldn't go even without your help.'

Silence had fallen in the office and Dumbledore, it seemed, was as caught-off guard as Harry. "You must know that to rescue your friend without help is impossible."

Merry had stood, suddenly bristling. "We have all here done the impossible before!" he exclaimed. "And we will not simply sit here and bit our fingernails as our kinsman is tortured! We will find a way to get him back with or without your help, and do not think you can stop us from doing so!" His eyes were bright and hard, his shoulders erect and stern; he was deadly serious. "Now if you will excuse us, Headmaster," he said coldly, "we will take our leave to find our missing companion."

Dumbledore had looked dumbstruck for a moment as the three hobbits headed for the door. Then: "Wait a moment, small master." He looked at Harry for an instant, then turned his attention back to their guests. "I believe I may have an idea. If you will wait a moment, I will call Severus here."

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The Dark Mark branded into the skin of Snape's left wrist had been burning for three days now, red and painful-looking and hot to the touch; for the millionth time since defecting to Dumbledore and turning spy against the Dark Lord, he cursed Voldemort for his way of summoning his followers. He knew that the brand was the Dark Lord's way of claiming complete ownership over his Death Eaters, but had he really needed to make it so damn _painful_?

Dumbledore's proposal had made Snape wonder if he really _was_ losing his grip on reality like rumor had it, but then the logic of his idea became clear. Severus Snape was, above all, a spy and what was it he was best at? Spying. Who better, then, to find out information on the missing creature currently within the Dark Lord's grasp?

He had a feeling that this was one meeting in which he would not escape unscathed from Voldemort's rage. Apparating to the hidden fortress where the Dark Lord lived, he immediately sensed the taut anger thrumming through the air, like a string ready to snap, and knew that his master was in a terrible mood. He silently cursed himself. The things he did for Albus Dumbledore…

Voldemort himself sat brooding on the immense marble throne in his audience chamber, deep in thought, while several of his masked Death Eaters silently and carefully moved their way around, fearful that being in the wrong place at the wrong time would earn them a round under the Cruciatus Curse. Even Bellatrix Lestrange, the only female Death Eater under Voldemort's reign, was clearly on edge as she waited for her master to move. He did so when seeing Snape enter.

"Severus," he hissed, and watched with utter disinterest as Snape hastily bent and, crawling up the steps of the dais, kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes.

"Master," Snape said, and the fear in his voice was very much real. No sane person could ever_ not_ be afraid in Lord Voldemort's presence.

There was no spoken answer for his greeting, only a quick cry of, _"Crucio!"_

Snape had known that that would likely be his punishment but not even that knowledge could save him from the all-encompassing agony that set his very bones to fire. He felt a scream tear itself from his throat, knowing the sound would please the Dark Lord, and sure enough soon the curse was blessedly lifted and Snape was left gasping below Voldemort's feet. He heard Bellatrix laughing at his punishment.

"You know I summoned my Death Eaters days ago, Severus," the Dark Lord said quietly.

"I… know, Master," Snape replied, trying to breath easily. "But the fool, Dumbledore, he said that I could not immediately come, as it would look too easy that I escaped from his hold too soon—"

"That Muggle-loving old sinner will be thoroughly punished later," the Dark Lord said coldly, "but _your_ actions should not be based on _his_."

"But to convince him of my loyalties to him, Master—!"

"I know of your loyalties, Severus!" Voldemort growled, and Snape cowered. "I have no need to be reminded of that! At the moment, I have more important matters to attend to." He paused and looked down at Snape, as if considering, then suddenly smiled coldly. "Accompany me to the dungeons now, Severus. Perhaps our latest guest will open up to a new face."

Snape knew of whom the Dark Lord was referring and strengthened his Occlumency shields three times stronger than even before. Dumbledore's entire plan rode on the idea of Snape having no prior knowledge of the prisoner.

"Master?"

They were heading to the deeper part of the dungeons, the ones that received very little light and seemingly no air, the ones that spawned panic and Darkness like Dementors bred icy cold. He wondered why they were here—surely the creature would be easier to break than this?

It seemed not. "Three days ago, a small creature the likes of which I have never seen landed practically upon our front doorstep. We brought it in and I have tried to discover more about it—what it is, how it came to be here…"

"You have had some… difficulty, Master?" The Dark Lord certainly looked displeased, and even more so when hearing Snape's inquiry.

"I have been—_unable_ to discover anything," Voldemort finally said through gritted teeth.

Snape struggled to hide his surge of surprise. There couldn't be any way any creature by the name of "hobbit" could possibly defy Lord Voldemort… no way at all.

It was a small, dark-haired boy sitting in the far corner of a cell when the Dark Lord and Snape entered—or so the potions professor would have thought if he hadn't already known who and what it would be. He stopped by the door, curious despite himself to see how this would play out. Having heard their footsteps and the whisper of their robes against the stone, the hobbit lifted his head to see them and Snape saw a pair of startling blue eyes sweep over him.

Voldemort stopped beside the hobbit, who made no move to do anything. "As you can see, my pet," the Dark Lord hissed, motioning to Snape, "you have an audience today."

Those unnerving eyes swept over Snape again, then slowly looked up at Voldemort, and actually _replied_:

"Moving onto beating the prisoner now?" The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable.

Voldemort's expression chilled. "Only if you do not cooperate," he snarled. "No, he is here to witness what happens to those who displease Lord Voldemort."

"Oh, so you're just moving onto killing me then?"

Snape had a terrible moment of indecision—of whether his jaw should drop in utter shock and horror at this creature's audacity to actually taunt _Voldemort…_ or, even worse, to actually laugh at the fact that the Darkest Dark Lord Britian had seen in fifty years was being given_ cheek_ from a prisoner. Oh, it was just too good!

The Dark Lord clearly did not agree because his lip curled with fury and, drawing his wand, shrieked, _"Crucio!"_

The hobbit collapsed on the floor, writhing, but despite the clear agony he was in he only allowed one short scream to escape him, a sound quickly stifled even in the echoing space of the cell. Finally the spell was lifted and he only shuddered on the floor.

"Be wary of your tongue," the Dark Lord snarled. "You may find it cut out one day."

Normally a prisoner who had just been placed under one of Voldemort's Cruciatus curses remained a shuddering, senseless pile of nerveless flesh for a long time afterwards, the pain was that severe, but to Snape's eternal astonishment the creature actually lifted his head a little and gasped, "Then—how could—I manage to—answer you?"

His answer earned him another round of the Cruciatus Curse, this time longer and more intense than before; and this time the creature _did_ scream, desperately trying to escape from the agony and unable to, kicking in reflex at the floor and small hands scrabbling for a hold onto a world that was slipping away in pain. When the Dark Lord lifted the spell, the creature fell bonelessly onto the floor, panting and trying to find some semblance of control. There was no reprieve from reality, however, because immediately Voldemort was there, demanding answers.

"If you don't want to die that way, I suggest you give me answers! Now," and his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "where are you from?"

For a long moment, the creature was silent; then finally he shook his head, refusing even without words to answer. He received another round under the Unforgivable Curse for that, and when finally that was over, Voldemort actually stooped and, grabbing a fistful of dark hair, pulled the hobbit's face up, nearly spitting in his rage.

"What is your _name_?"

Snape watched, silent, as the hobbit was utterly silent for a long moment; nothing moved, nothing breathed, as if Life itself was watching to see what would happen: then finally the creature, still shaking and white-faced from the curses, lifted his eyes to Voldemort's furious gaze, and even glazed with tears of pain they shone with an unlikely strength. Still defiant, still unbroken. And Snape suddenly began to realize _how_ he was resisting the Dark Lord. "Why—" he rasped from a throat rubbed raw from screaming, "should I give you mine— when you don't even _use_ yours?"

And for the first time in a long time, the Dark Lord lost it. He had hoped that by having another threat there, the creature would be intimidated enough to speak, but that had backfired spectacularly and slapped him in the face, and now he had been shown up in front of one of his followers by a filthy little_ animal_! Screeching an expletive, his red eyes alight with enraged madness, he lashed out viciously and struck the hobbit solidly across the face. The hobbit fell to the floor and did not move again, lost in blessed unconsciousness from the force of the blow.

And Snape decided that he had _finally_ met someone more reckless and more stupid than Harry Potter.

If Frodo Baggins lived to see tomorrow's sunrise it would be entirely surprising.


End file.
